


Don't Bother

by ProseApothecary



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, adopting a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21768508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Crowley turns up at Aziraphale’s place for one of their increasingly regular lunches, only to stop at the front gate.Aziraphale’s legs are looped around the branch of an oak, his head upside-down. He’s cradling a very resistant cat in your arms.“Crowley,” he says, “lovely to see you, as always. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”“Sure. The angel’s meant to go at the top of the tree.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87





	Don't Bother

Crowley turns up at Aziraphale’s place for one of their increasingly regular lunches, only to stop at the front gate.

Aziraphale’s legs are looped around the branch of an oak, his head upside-down. He’s cradling a very resistant cat in your arms.

“Crowley,” he says, “lovely to see you, as always. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”

“Sure. The angel’s meant to go at the top of the tree.”

“Very amusing,” Aziraphale says in a voice that is anything but amused. “But I’m in need of some more practical assistance.”

“Seems like what you _really_ need is a pair of wings.”

“It’s just a rather _busy_ neighbourhood.” He motions towards a house opposite, where an elderly woman is staring at the scene unfolding, stopping occasionally to prune her hedges.

“…Nice neighbours.”

“Very. So you can see how relying on traditional methods would be a bad idea. Now, I don’t have a ladder, but there’s an inflatable mattress rolled up in the third drawer of my dressing table. If you bring that out-”

“Just let go,” says Crowley. “I’ll catch you.”

Aziraphale flushes. “This morning I breakfasted at a cafe that makes croquembouches _just _like the one we had in 1792, so that may prove challenging.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

Aziraphale shoots him a look.

“Proverbially speaking. Listen, even if I was inclined to spend my weekends building a mattress fort on your lawn, there’s a good chance that before it’s finished, you and the kitten will no longer be arboreal, _or_ corporeal.”

“Alright, alright,” Aziraphale huffs. “Just-give me a minute.”

The increasingly wriggly kitten chooses that moment to truly lash out, and suddenly Aziraphale Is tumbling.

And, just as suddenly, in Crowley’s arms.

Aziraphale looks a little pink, but otherwise unharmed.

The cat is quite calmly licking its paws.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says as graciously as possible.

“Wouldn’t do to have two fallen angels in the same neighbourhood. Hell for property values.”

“Oh dear,” says Aziraphale, distracted.

“What?”

“Don’t look now, but…well, if Mrs Elton wasn’t staring _before_…”

Crowley, very deliberately, turns and waves.

“Crowley, _please_.” Aziraphale says, but he’s smiling quite a bit.

As soon as they’re sitting at the kitchen table, the cat drapes itself over Crowley’s lap.

“Really,” says Aziraphale, “after _I_ rescued it.”

“I think you’ll find that technically I rescued it.” says Crowley.

Aziraphale ignores him and extends a hand to the kitten, who immediately hisses.

Crowley conjures up some tuna for her.

“Don’t _condition_ her to hiss at me,” Aziraphale says in a tone of betrayal.

“She looked hungry,” Crowley says. ”You don’t want her to starve…do you?”

Aziraphale sighs. “I suppose she’ll have to stay with you. She won’t stand me.”

Crowley freezes. “Shouldn’t we take her to a vet, see if anyone owns her?”

“I know the neighbours who own her. And they neglect her terribly. She’d be safer with you.”

“So you’re thieving-”

“Rehousing,” Aziraphale interjects.

“-a cat. And _I’m_ your best option to take care of it? Me and living things…don’t really mix.”

“It seems you do an excellent job caring for your plants.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence. “_Caring_ for-”

“I’ll provide all the supplies. Deliver them to your door.”

Crowley sighs.

Waking up to mewling at 3am is becoming a habit.

“Alright, alright,” Crowley says to a begonia that’s looking at him smugly, “you’re not _the_ most irritating being in existence.”

He takes out Bother’s food, and she immediately flattens herself against him.

“Extra nice when you need something, huh? I know someone like that.”

He pours out a bowl and backs into the bedroom, holding a finger against his lips.

Aziraphale shows up the next morning.

“I’m here to help out with…well, we never actually gave her a name, did we?”

“It’s Bother.”

“I’m not calling her that. But I will help.”

“She’s sleeping right now. At 11 in the morning. Quite the layabout.”

“Didn’t you once sleep for a century?”

Crowley cocks his head. “What’s your point?”

“Right.” says Aziraphale. “Suppose I should get going then. If you don’t need me.”

“You could stay.” Crowley says. “Don’t know what mood she’s going to be in when she wakes up. If I’m going to be mauled, I’d like to have backup.”

Aziraphale thinks a snake could probably handle a cat. He does not say this.

Instead, he says, “Of course, dear,” miracles a book to read, and settles on the couch.

When Bother wakes up, she hisses at Aziraphale.

Crowley hisses back at her, which seems to confuse her enough to tame her for the time being.

They spend the day together and Bother seems to get used to Aziraphale, although the fact that he keeps miracling treats may assist. By evening, she’s sitting in his lap, purring while he pats her.

“You’re supposed to be a creature of the occult,” says a disappointed Crowley. “Not defeated by treats and a warm lap.”

“Who among us is impervious to either?” Aziraphale asks, wonderingly.

Crowley opens his mouth, and closes it again.

“Your side gets dogs,” he says, after a minute.

“_All Dogs Go to Heaven_ is not a documentary.”

Crowley frowns. “Well, I haven’t seen any downstairs.”

“I don’t think they go anywhere,” Aziraphale says. “The question of free will…it’s a little tricky.”

“Oh. Sorry Bother.” Crowley scratches under her chin. “Might as well cause some mischief while you’re here, then.”

Aziraphale gives him a look. “Cats have been associated with divinity for _at least_ as long as the occult.” He glances down at the cat. “So don’t listen to his temptations.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Angel. Are you proselytising to a cat?”

“Well, you were _tempting_ her-”

“Do you have a few minutes to talk about our lord and saviour?” Crowley asks the cat. “No? What about some pamphlets?”

They’re interrupted by the sound of Bother purring.

“Apparently she does,” Aziraphale says. “Our newest Apurrstle.”

This time, Crowley hisses at the both of them.

The next morning, they both wake to the sound of a statue crashing to the ground.

Crowley walks out of his bedroom and runs his hands through his hair.

Aziraphale looks up from the couch he slept on, noticing that, somehow, half the stuffing has been ripped out from under him.

“One thing’s clear.” Crowley says. “She’s definitely one of ours.”

Aziraphale’s saved from having to argue the point by a ring at the doorbell. Crowley slips on his sunglasses and goes to answer it.

Anathema’s standing there, holding a rather large tub, and her eyes widen as she sees the room.

“I…love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Blame Aziraphale,” Crowley says.

“I didn’t realise he’d moved in-”

“He forced me to adopt a cat.”

“Asked you,” calls out Aziraphale, slipping on a dressing gown. “I asked you to adopt a cat. Lovely to see you, Anathema,” he says as he comes to the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I come bearing gifts. I suggested Newt try his hand at a hobby other than computing. Somehow a recipe for 12 macaroons ended up creating 74 and, well, we hoped you might have a sweet tooth…”

“Oh, we do,” says Aziraphale, taking the tub. “Thank you. Do come in for morning tea.”

“I _told_ you,” says Crowley, as Bother flattens herself against Anathema’s skirts. “Cats are on our side.”

“Anathema is not _your_ side. She may be a witch, but so was Glinda.”

Anathema, not entirely following the conversation, leans down to pet the cat. “Oh, you are beautiful.”

Aziraphale and Crowley glance at each other for a second before saying, simultaneously.

“Take her. Please.”

“We’ll pay you,” Aziraphale adds helpfully.

“I have been wondering if I should get a familiar,” Anathema says. “I had thought, given the name, that maybe Newt was mine but…for some reason, he was _not_ fond of that idea.”

“Then it’s settled,” Aziraphale says brightly, picking up Bother and putting her in Anathema’s lap.

Once Anathema heads off with Bother in tow, Crowley and Aziraphale survey their surroundings.

“Before I go,” Aziraphale says, “I could help you clean up?”

Crowley stops in the middle of miracling his statue back together.

“Only seems fair,” he says. “Since it was your cat.”

“You rescued it,” Aziraphale retorts.

“Oh,” Crowley mutters as he starts picking up stuffing. “Now _I’m_ the one who rescued it.”

_It’s not that he doesn’t trust Newt and Anathema_, Aziraphale thinks as he heads to their flat. _One just likes to check in. He expects they’ve done a fine job taking care of Bother._

What he doesn’t expect, when Anathema opens the door to him, is to see Crowley sitting in the rocking chair with a dozing Bother on his lap.

“Oh! You came to check on Bother too!”

“No. No, I don’t check on things. I’m, uh, borrowing a cup of sugar.”

This is clearly news to Anathema, who says “Oh!” and goes into the kitchen to get it.

“_What?_” asks Crowley, when Aziraphale has glanced over at him and smiled one too many times.

“What’s the sugar for? Given that you don’t eat.”

“I’m going to visit a few restaurants. See if their salt shakers can be updated.”

“I see. Very devious.”

Anathema walks out of the kitchen carrying a cup of sugar and three tubs.

“So. You can have the sugar. If you’re also willing to take 108 rock cakes.”

“No thank you,” Crowley says, at the same time Aziraphale announces “We’d be happy to take them off your hands.”

“I’m confiscating this,” Aziraphale says, taking the sugar as well as the tubs. “Given that it’s going to be used for nefarious ends. You’d have to search my flat top-to-bottom to find it,” he announces rather loudly.

_That should ensure their next few meetings are at his place_, he thinks, as he says his goodbyes. _Crowley’s apartment has such uncomfortable sofas._

“Erm,” Anathema says, as Crowley delicately puts Bother on the floor and stands up, “would you like some more sugar?”

“No time,” Crowley says as he heads out. “I have an apartment to search.”

Bother directs an irritated mew at Anathema.

“I know, dear,” she responds. “But I’m sure they’ll get around to it eventually.”


End file.
